


insatiable

by elleskandal



Series: the naked chef [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blindfolds, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Food Kink, Food Sex, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Temperature Play, Wax Play, Whipped Cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28033428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleskandal/pseuds/elleskandal
Summary: Osamu began to wonder what he’d done that warranted Keiji’s sexual warfare in the form of getting him to associate food and sex.--Ever since Keiji’s tamago incident when he had moaned like that, Osamu hadn’t been able to see Keiji and food together in the same light. Sure, he had always enjoyed seeing him eat — seeing Keiji enjoy his food gave him a little bit more pride than watching the ordinary customer. He liked pleasing his husband. But now? Now that he had heard those sinful sounds coming out of Keiji? He couldn’t get them out of his head.Every time Keiji would wrap his lips around one of his onigiri in the shop, Osamu would have to stop from imagining him swallowing his dick whole. When his lips were on a banana as an afternoon snack, he had to stop from replaying blow job after blow job in his mind. Every time they’d get popsicles — which he had hoped would be less now that winter was creeping up, but no, now there were holiday flavors! — he’d pop a— well, you catch the drift.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Series: the naked chef [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993168
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78





	insatiable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keijisosamu (combustible)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/combustible/gifts).



> This is a sequel to “my dirty lil’ maid” — not required reading but doesn’t hurt to understand the backstory just a little bit more! ;) 
> 
> That first story didn’t feel resolved after the last one shot and I thought about what else Keiji might do after continuing to be incited with naked Osamu and their lack of communication on the matter. So here’s another one shot, but from Osamu’s perspective… who has no idea what’s going on. Poor Osamu. Why doesn’t Keiji just talk to him about his nakedness? 
> 
> I want to give a special thank you to [boomturkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boomturkey/pseuds/boomturkey) for being a wonderful beta and helping me word at my best again. If you love longfics, be sure to check out her Hinarizaki series!
> 
> And finally, I dedicate this fic to mel, my fellow Osaaka lover and writer. May we continue to inspire each other.

Ever since the tamago incident when Keiji had moaned, Osamu hadn’t been able to see Keiji and food together in the same light. Sure, he had always enjoyed seeing him eat — seeing Keiji enjoy his food gave him a little bit more pride than watching the ordinary customer. He liked pleasing his husband. But now? Now that he had heard those sinful sounds coming out of Keiji? He couldn’t get them out of his head. 

Every time Keiji would wrap his lips around one of his onigiri in the shop, Osamu would have to stop from imagining him swallowing his dick whole. When his lips were on a banana as an afternoon snack, he had to stop from replaying blow job after blow job in his mind. Every time they’d get popsicles — which he had hoped would be less now that winter was creeping up, but no, now there were holiday flavors! — he’d pop a— well, you catch the drift. 

Then he’d see all that food _without_ Keiji and his tantalizing lips, and his mind would race. Hell, there was nothing he wanted to do more than to call him up for an afternoon delight, but it was usually rush hour and he had to keep stuffing rice balls. He wished he was stuffing something else. Someone else. 

It was almost like the amount of phallic food Keiji ate had gone up recently — Osamu hadn’t been imagining it, had he? There were only so many times Keiji could actually _want_ to stop for Korean hot dogs, right? And with this sudden increase in dick-shaped food, the moans that Keiji exuded seemed to skyrocket. Osamu played it off like it was normal, like everyone ate like that. But if everyone ate like that, then Osamu was Dionysus and this was one of his orgies because Keiji’s antics were leading to quite an uptick in their sex life… and not just that. 

Keiji’s… _behavior_ ... was getting a little out of hand. It was getting _hard_ for Osamu to work in his own shop. Food was literally his life. How could he associate food and sex? It was all because of Keiji. Every time they had a meal at home now, he tried to ignore Keiji, just to get through a meal, just once… but Keiji practically _made_ Osamu jump his bones. Damn, Keiji. 

That’s the only explanation for why Osamu would abandon food like that. Keiji must have some magic mind control powers. Those words he was so good at putting on paper were coming out and getting his mind all twisted up. Because the amount of good, hot meals that had gone cold due to the fact that they had gotten caught up in their, ahem, _emotions_ was far too high for Osamu’s liking — it had to be mind control. Noises, words, spells? Something. 

And before he knew it, that mind control had him again… 

When he was almost done cooking breakfast one morning — which he did au natural, of course — Keiji came up behind him, pressing his full body against his back, leaning his chin on his shoulder. “What’d you make?” 

Osamu could feel every inch of Keiji. And the inches began to grow. 

“Miso soup, pickled vegetables, and grilled fish. Are we going to get to eat it this time?” he said as he turned around in his husband’s grasp, hands sliding down his waist. 

“Maybe in a bit?” Keiji hummed, rubbing his hard cock against the front of Osamu’s apron. Having Keiji’s hands tracing circles on Osamu’s bare back made it even harder to resist and Osamu’s dick agreed. 

“Keiji, we really should eat before it gets cold.” He rubbed his hands on Keiji’s hips, telling himself this was the adult thing to do. Eat. Treat himself after his meal. Keiji had to be on the same wavelength, right? As husbands, they had developed at least some semblance of being able to read each other’s minds at times. 

“But I want dessert first.” They were at the counter between the stove and the fridge as Osamu was plating the meal. It was easy for Keiji to lean over, a little out of Osamu’s grasp for just a moment, and open the refrigerator for what he wanted. “And it seems like you are already as excited as I am.” 

_Shit_ , Osamu was. He looked down and his apron was already tented, pushing up against Keiji. 

Then he saw what Keiji pulled out of the fridge as he sprayed it on his finger — his dick twitched. Whipped cream. That was meant for the pie, Keiji! If he didn’t have a food complex before, he certainly would now. 

Keiji tilted his head and licked the cream off his finger. “Mmm,” he moaned a short sound that traveled from Osamu’s ears down his body, pooling in his stomach. 

How could Osamu resist this? This was sexual warfare. What had he done to deserve this? Especially when there was substantial food to be had! Keiji loved food almost as much as he had, so how… HOW? Osamu’s brain short-circuited upon the next moan. 

Keiji put more whipped cream on his finger and then offered it to Osamu. He salivated. 

“Do you want some whipped cream?” Keiji purred, a glint in his eye. 

Osamu wanted some cream, alright.

He physically couldn’t resist. His head dropped forward as if he was a marionette on strings — he wasn’t in control of his body. His hand clasped around Keiji’s forearm and he lowered his mouth onto Keiji’s finger. As reluctant as he was, this tasted delicious and it wasn’t just the whipped cream. The feeling of Keiji’s finger on his tongue fed into the taste, making it pure heaven. He sucked it clean, imagining Keiji’s cock, all the while listening to his husband let out little groans and sighs like those he’d made while they’d been eating. It was torture. 

Osamu loved the pulse in his chest when he met Keiji’s eyes, the heat in his stomach when Keiji pulled his finger out and rubbed it against Osamu’s bottom lip. Keiji’s other hand gripped his chest, while Osamu continued to hold his hips. They stood there, in the kitchen in a standstill — Keiji’s eyes challenging, a new fire lit within him; Osamu laid torn between his lust for Keiji’s body, his love for his husband, and his love for food — which he really should think about as _just_ food. 

And then he thought, _fuck it_ — he would talk to Keiji about the whole food thing later. Everything in moderation, right? He was on this earth for a good time, not a long time. 

He hoisted his husband up with Keiji wrapping his legs around Osamu’s waist and growled, “Grab the whipped cream.” Keiji snagged it as he was carried, clutching Osamu’s shoulders as he dragged them to the bedroom. Smiles danced on both of their lips. 

Osamu threw his husband on the bed where he bounced once but quickly settled back on his elbows. “I’m starving.” Osamu’s eyes looked hungry for more than food. 

Keiji sprayed whipped cream on his collar bone. “Well then, let’s fill you up.” 

Osamu growled in response, crawling on the bed towards him, licking up the white strip of fluffy, creamy sugar, sucking and biting on the skin underneath as Keiji whimpered. He pulled back to admire the marks he left on Keiji’s milky skin and decided he wanted more. He was insatiable. “Give me that.” He reached for the whipped cream in Keiji’s hand, but it was maneuvered out of his reach. 

Keiji tsk’d. “You made breakfast. I’m in charge of dessert,” he said as he shook the can of cream and left white little blobs for Osamu to chase down his chest. 

Osamu gobbled them up, leaving a trail of marks in his path, each accompanied by the hitching of breaths and slow groans as his teeth scraped against skin. He couldn’t get enough of those noises. He wanted more. He loomed over Keiji when he was finished. “So what’s next on the menu?” _More?_

Keiji shook the can. “There’s not much left in this.” He tossed it on the ground gracefully. Everything he did was graceful. Always. “I have an idea for your next course though.” Leaning over to his bedside drawer, he began rummaging. Osamu tried to peek, but Keiji commanded him to lay down. “Put this on.” He handed Osamu a blindfold. 

“Ain’t that—” Yup, it was really just Keiji’s everyday sleeping mask. 

“Just do it and lay down.” Keiji continued searching through his drawer as Osamu complied. If Keiji wanted to sleep in something every day after Osamu had worn it having sex, by all means! 

Osamu laid there in anticipation. The room had gone silent. Every hair on his body rose; he shook involuntarily as he imagined what Keiji had in store for him. When Keiji’s warm breath ghosted his ear, he flinched, goosebumps rising as he didn’t expect him to be so close. Keiji hummed in amusement as he took Osamu’s ear lobe in his teeth. In response, Osamu let out an uncontrolled whine. 

Every sense Osamu felt was tenfold now — the blindfold heightening his every sensation, physical and mental. As Keiji’s lips moved down his jaw, the warmth spread across Osamu’s skin, following his husband. While he was focused on Osamu’s neck, Osamu was surprised by cool droplets hitting his chest. His heightened senses informed him of the smell, tropical and sweet: pineapple. It was one of those body oils they were gifted for their wedding as a gag gift — they’d used it only a handful of times. 

Osamu smiled as Keiji kissed down his chest and rubbed the oil into his pecs and stomach, into the divets that led lower into his hips, and back up and around his sides. Keiji’s hands were big — long slender fingers able to work their ways into the muscles of Osamu’s abs, eliciting sighs from his partner. 

“Now, this next course is for me. I haven’t had it in a long time.” Keiji paused. More quietly he whispered close to his ear, “It’s roasted… or you could say, it’s lightly seared.” 

“K-Keiji,” Osamu breathed, his heart hammering in his chest. If what he’s thinking of is coming… “Is it—” Is that why he broke out the oil?

“If you don’t want to—” Keiji almost sounded nervous. 

“I want it,” he responded almost too quickly, cutting Keiji off. After a beat, he heard the telltale flick of a lighter. He shivered in anticipation and braced himself for what came next. He didn’t know where it would hit or when. His hands wrapped around the sheets near his waist and he gripped. He learned in the past not to bite his lip after he was so startled upon impact once that he bit it and bled. So now, he gritted his teeth instead as he waited, taking in a big breath and slowly exhaling.

All he could hear was the taiko drums of his heart beating throughout his body as he breathed, pulsating to the quick rhythm that his adrenaline set. 

Then it hit. The hot splatter of coconut-scented wax dribbled across his chest. Osamu hissed, knuckles turning white as he palmed the sheets. His legs kicked a little, involuntarily. As quickly as he tensed, it was like all the tension in his body released — he uncurled his balled fists and his head lolled to the side. He groaned in satisfaction. 

All of the answers to his questions that had built up in stress within him were answered: Where would Keiji pour it? Would it sear his skin or be a light buzz? Would he let it pool for added heat or drizzle tiny drops along his skin? What would it smell like?

Suddenly, none of the answers mattered anymore because they were all new questions again within his mind. He gathered the sheets within his palms again and felt a kiss from Keiji on his cheek. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Y-yes.” Osamu tried to take a breath, but the air burned his throat. It’s like the room was just as hot as his skin. It wasn’t actually, but his throat was dry as the desert. He was sweating. Already. Damn, it’d been too long. 

“I’m going to keep going.” 

“Mmm,” Osamu hummed as he felt the pressure of the hardened wax on his skin. It tickled, as if something was crawling under his skin. He just wanted more of the pleasure-pain feeling. Keiji obliged, pooling the wax around his navel, eliciting a growl from Osamu. “More.” 

Osamu’s head spun, a little foggy with his sight blacked out, focusing on the way his body felt under the pool of hot wax that took longer to harden than the droplets had. The heat simmered under the tiny lake of wax, warming him to his core. He shuddered as he allowed the warmth to flow through him. 

His mind wandered to the sound of Keiji’s breathing. Osamu tried to sync up his own with his partner’s, but he didn’t think he was getting enough oxygen for his fuzzy brain. He began to take deeper breaths, letting the calm wash over him. 

His peace of mind was immediately broken when his nipple was rained down upon with droplets of searing hot liquid. Osamu gasped, his mind purged of all other thoughts. 

“Just a little bit more, okay?” Keiji was skilled at changing the temperature of the wax by adjusting the height away from Osamu’s body — it took him a while practicing on himself before he even wanted to try it on Osamu. With this specific scented soy candle, he knew exactly how far away he needed to be from his husband to make him feel that perfect mix of ecstasy and torture. That feeling that sent electricity shooting through his body and pooling in his dick. If he wasn’t hard after the kitchen encounter (he was), the whipped cream or the body oil (he most definitely was), then this — the wax play, which was a throw-back to their early days of dating when their kinkier trysts began — made the whole affair even hotter. While these types of engagements had cooled since marriage — to both of their disappointments, neither of them were at fault — it was something they had both been craving. 

Osamu groaned again, arching his back, willing the wax to come to him faster.

“Don’t move. We don’t want the pooled wax to spill.” Keiji tenderly held his shoulder down and wiped the hair out of Osamu’s face. “I’m going to scrape down what’s dried.” He placed a delicate kiss at the corner of Osamu’s mouth. 

God, Osamu was so turned on. He didn’t want to wait until the wax was scraped off. Even though he knew it’d feel so good. He couldn’t wait. It was the wax’s fault — it made him all kinds of hot. And bothered. 

His mouth chased after Keiji’s as he pulled away from the kiss. When he was met with nothing, he snaked his hand along Keiji’s thigh that pressed into his side, traveling his hand up Keiji’s chest, settling his fingers under his chin. “Come back.” He grabbed Keiji’s chin with his thumb and guided their faces together, as he propped himself up on his elbows. 

Eye mask still on, he let his instincts lead him as he maneuvered around Keiji’s face. “I want you right now,” he said between kisses. Passionate. He aimed to convey to Keiji just how much he wanted him. Really wanted him. His one hand now roamed Keiji — from his face to his hair, winding his fingers and tugging ever so slightly, raking his nails across Keiji’s scalp as he pulled Keiji’s lip through his teeth. Keiji moaned and he knew he succeeded. 

“Keiji, just fuck me already.” Osamu hoped he didn’t sound desperate, but he probably did. 

His husband sighed and whimpered as they kissed. “Okay, just give me a minute.” He pulled away. Osamu was left alone in the dark. He sighed, leaning back against the pillows. He thought about touching himself, but with the way he was already so worked up, he’d rather not get too ahead of Keiji. _Patience is a virtue_ , he told himself. He was used to waiting for things — he often had to when cooking in order to get the results he needed. The bedroom was no different, sometimes it made the sex even better. 

Osamu bit his lip, imagining what Keiji was doing, what would be coming next. It got him even more riled up. His dick ached. 

“Are you ready, Osamu?” his husband asked, breaking the silence. He wasn’t seated next to him anymore, but further down the bed between his legs now. Osamu barely heard him move. 

“Yes.” Before he could respond further or ask any questions, he felt Keiji’s finger enter him and he gasped in surprise, mouth falling open, body tensing. 

“Relax,” Keiji instructed, as he moved his slick finger in and out to open Osamu up. His hand moved up and down Osamu’s thigh, at first to soothe him and then to stabilize himself as he hastened his ministrations. He added another finger and then a third, as Osamu writhed and moaned under his hands. 

“You’re doing so well, Osamu.” 

“Fu— Feels so good,” he panted in reply. He moved his hips forward, wanting more from Keiji, who tamped them down. “I love the way you touch me. Fuck. Nghh.” Osamu began his babbling as he was want to do when they had sex. “I can’t wait for you to rail me. I want to look into your eyes while you fuck me. They’re so fucking beautiful, Keiji baby. Oh, god.” Keiji hit that particularly sensitive spot and Osamu cried out. 

“You like that?” Osamu could hear the smile in Keiji’s voice. He couldn’t respond as Keiji thrust his fingers relentlessly inside, curling towards Osamu’s prostate, making him scream. 

“FUCK! YES!” Osamu’s hand reached up to grab hold of his dick to help himself finish. He was so close to coming just from Keiji’s fingers alone; he didn’t want it to end, but at the same time, he so desperately wanted a sweet release. His hand never made it though — Keiji’s free hand wrapped around his wrist pinning it at his side. “Keij—” 

“I thought you wanted me to _rail you_ .” His voice had a hint of tartness to it, like all the sugar he exuded normally was all used up. Shit, it was hot when he got like this. Osamu nodded fervently in reply, whimpering from Keiji’s touch, imagining the dark look Keiji had on his face. “Then be patient. Isn’t that what you always tell me?” Osamu nodded again, releasing some kind of garbled noise in acknowledgment. _More._

Keiji removed his fingers leaving Osamu to feel empty, wanting — whimpering. But all Osamu could do was wait. There was an element of suffering to waiting. His dick pulsed, aching, pre-come threatening to become more as it dripped against his stomach. His thoughts spiraled as he heard every shift in sound, wondering what Keiji was doing, when he would touch him next. 

When he felt Keiji’s cock at his entrance, he gasped. It felt like all the time in the world and yet no time at all had passed. His mind careened as Keiji pushed in slowly, bottoming out, and leaned over Osamu, leaving hot breaths against his ear. “Are you ready?” his husband whispered and nipped his ear. 

“So ready.” He tried to sound sultry, but it was just desperate at this point. He just wanted cock so badly. 

And with Osamu’s reply, Keiji slammed his hips again and again into Osamu, making good on his promise. With each thrust, Osamu became more unhinged, his mind slowly coming apart. Wax crinkled and pulled away from his skin, adding another feeling of tension on his skin and pleasure as it came off with each drive into him. His head rolled back as he released a moan so loud, he was surprised he wasn’t already coming with it. “So close. P-please. PLEASE,” he begged. 

The slapping of skin continued ruthlessly for a few moments longer before Keiji saw fit to respond. “Osamu,” he sounded commanding — Osamu loved when he said his name like that. Keiji’s hand grabbed his face, their foreheads touching as he spoke, “Come for me.” 

Beneath the blindfold, all that was darkness lit up with stars. Osamu’s mind went fuzzy, as he felt warm from the feeling that coursed through his body outwards to the tips of his fingers. A blanket of come splattered against his stomach. They rode their highs out together, Osamu embraced Keiji, not caring about the mess that smeared between them. He kissed his husband’s neck as they slowed, Keiji’s head resting on Osamu’s shoulder as they both enjoyed the post-orgasm serenity for a few moments.

Keiji gave his own little grunt as he planted a kiss on Osamu’s cheek and pulled out. “I’ll be right back.” 

Osamu continued to lay in darkness as his skin buzzed from the high and the after-effects of temperature play. His mind swirled in contentment, no thoughts really, just pure serenity. He even forgot he had a blindfold on since he had closed his eyes. That was until Keiji padded over to him and said, “I’m going to take this off, okay?” He felt a finger loop around the face mask. 

“‘Kay.”

The light in the room was hard to process, even if it was only the low-level glow from the bathroom that seeped in through the cracked door. It was bright after not having seen light for who knows how long. Osamu blinked and squinted to reacquaint himself with the setting. 

“How are you?” 

“Good.” Osamu smiled. 

“Good,” the warmth in Keiji’s face filled Osamu with even more tranquility. “Let me get you cleaned up.” Keiji wiped him down with a warm rag and scraped the wax off his skin with a blunt knife, which sometimes made Osamu shiver, but in a good way. The sensation was pleasurable like having an itch and finally being able to scratch it. It was intimate as Keiji leaned close to him, pulling the wax away from his skin slowly, precisely, gently — gathering it into a little cup on the nightstand to easily dispose of it.

Once he was finished, Keiji grabbed the lotion he had brought with him from the bathroom and began to rub Osamu’s chest. The cool cream helped to soothe any lasting irritation from the wax and any hydrate the skin that may have become dry from its heat. This was Osamu’s favorite part of the experience; he missed this. Then his stomach growled. 

“Ya know, I really like to eat. I thought ya did too.” Osamu decided to address his stomach and _why_ it was growling instead of his immediate need to eat. He still wanted to be pampered more, not knowing when he’d get this again. 

“I do.” Keiji avoided his eyes as he continued to rub the lotion in. 

“I feel like we don’t eat anymore. Not like we used to.” 

“We do.” Keiji frowned while Osamu stared at him, seared his gaze into him. He was trying to make a point here. 

“Look,” Keiji stopped to look at him, “what we’ve been doin’ is hot,” Osamu paused, “...sometimes. But can we not make it a _thing_ all the time when we eat? Since food is my job, ya know?” 

“I see your point. It’d be a lot easier though, Osamu, if you weren’t naked _all the time_. Especially when you cooked.” His face was blank, head cocked. His hands rested on Osamu’s chest. 

Oh. That sly… 

“Ya got me there,” Osamu conceded instead of the argument he began brewing in his head. It elicited a light smile from his husband who went back to rubbing the lotion in, widening his reach beyond the areas that had been hit by the hot wax. 

“So…” Keiji massaged Osamu’s arms. This is where the perk of being able to read each other’s minds came in handy. 

“Yeah, I can get some pajama pants or boxers or somethin’.” 

“A shirt too.” Well, almost being able to read minds. Maybe the same wavelength at least. “I can’t look at this,” Keiji’s hands slide down Osamu’s perfectly triangular torso, “all day and accomplish anything.” Keiji laughed — a warm noise wrapped Osamu with contentment like hot pot on a cool winter evening. 

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled in return, thinking about how lucky he was to spend the rest of his life with Keiji. Then he spotted the wax candle on the nightstand. “I can’t believe we did that again after what happened last time.” 

Keiji shrugged one shoulder, “I figured it was time. Even if we should have put down a mattress protector. I’ll just wash the sheets tomorrow.” Keiji picked at the little pieces of wax that had rolled onto the bed next to Osamu, gathering as many as he could. 

“I know ya only suggested it ‘cuz ya wanted me to be a freakin’ piña colada for ya! Don’tcha think I didn’t figure it out.” Osamu smirked thinking about the pineapple body oil paired with the coconut wax. 

“Look, it was a coincidence.” Keiji let out a huff of laughter as he tapped Osamu’s chest to signal he was done with the lotion — thankfully unscented.

As Osamu shimmied up on the pillows to prop himself up, he replied, “Something tells me it wasn’t.” He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lip. 

Keiji made it look like he was cleaning up the supplies around the bed, but grabbed a throw pillow quickly off the floor and whacked Osamu in the face. Gracefully. 

“Cheap shot!” Osamu hollered, launching himself onto Keiji, who now sat on the edge of the bed, pillow in hand. 

On top of Keiji, Osamu tickled him like there was no tomorrow. Keiji looked like he was having trouble breathing, face red and hair disheveled. “OK! OK!” he gasped. “I admit defeat!” He wriggled away from Osamu’s grasp, standing up. 

“So you admit it?” Osamu leaned on his hand, propping himself up on his elbow to eye his husband who was trying to fix his hair. _Cute_. 

“What do you admit?” 

“I wanted you to be my piña colada,” Keiji admitted with a sly smile, face pink. Whether he was blushing from the tickling or from the admission, Osamu will never know. 

“I knew it,” Osamu declared. Keiji approached the bed and tried to get back in. “Speaking of piña coladas,” he stopped Keiji from getting into bed with a hand on his chest — the man looked mildly dejected, “I’m hungry.” 

“Oh, right. Food.” Keiji eyed the kitchen as Osamu sat up. He must be hungry too.

“Yeah, food.” Osamu looked at the empty whipped cream canister on the floor not regretting one bit anything that had happened but definitely wanting to separate food and sex just a little bit more. 

After that, Osamu didn’t associate sex and food _as much_ since he invested in a slew of pajama pants. But whenever he surefire wanted to get laid, he cooked naked (and made food that reheated well, of course). And vice versa, Keiji wore the maid costume. They didn’t have to say anything, their outfit — or lack thereof — said it all.

**Author's Note:**

> If ya liked this, follow me on [Twitter](www.twitter.com/elleskandal), drop a kudos, or leave me a comment with your thoughts!
> 
> PS. Don’t play with fire unless you’re an expert. Or read up a lot before you do. Wax is messy, so you probably wouldn’t do it over your bed like this. This is fiction, y’all.


End file.
